


and i wish i was your beer

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 22:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty has never really seen Jack drink all that much--and considering how silly Jack starts to get with a little alcohol in his system, he's pretty thankful that him drinking continues to be a rarity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i wish i was your beer

**Author's Note:**

> music for listening parts [one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxEPV4kolz0) and [two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OctrGD4JW8U)

Bitty has always considered himself to be a pretty modest guy. Coach’s salary had allowed their family to live pretty comfortably, but from an early age, figure skating took up a lot of resources. Time, spent driving to the rink, a half-hour from his home. Money, spent on skates, costumes, and lessons. And then he switched to hockey in high school, which meant more time away from home, more money spent on new skates, equipment, and more. After spending so many years of his life focusing on one sport to suddenly switch to another—even if this one had Coach’s approval—made him feel a little guilty. Asking for much more from his parents, who had been so accommodating to this point, might be overstepping his bounds.

His mother had always been fond of spoiling him, though, so he quietly indulged at times, a shirt or two from Hollister from one shopping mall trip, a blazer from Forever 21 from another, accessorizing his largely department store wardrobe with pricier touches when allowed. 

After a few summer jobs, he finally gave himself a little more room to splurge. Nicer clothes were a part of this, of course, but then there’s his baby, a standing KitchenAid mixer that he hasn’t even dared bringing to the Haus, despite how much he misses her when he’s away. She’s practically a goddess in her own right, and even though his parents’ kitchen isn’t outfitted with everything he wants, he thinks his baking will be just fine as long as he’s got her in his possession.

But then he sets foot in the Zimmermann family kitchen for the first time, and he can’t decide between crying, or salivating, or both. 

Everything is so _pristine_. Marble countertops, top-of-the-line appliances, _two_ whole ovens—the second of which only receives attention on Thanksgiving, Jack tells him, if she’s lucky. It’s practically the kitchen of his dreams, but he’s noticed over the past few days that, other than the grill outdoors, the go-to kitchen appliance is the microwave, of all things.

And that just about breaks his heart.

Bitty isn’t the type of person that fixates too much on money. He’s appalled by the idea of thinking of his boyfriend as a walking string of zeroes, and ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s just Jack. But after swooning over his parents’ kitchen, he can’t help but be reminded that his boyfriend is receiving a rather large paycheck from the National Hockey League itself, and well, he’s going to have to spend that money on _something._

Canada Day is the day after next, and he’s spending the week with the Zimmermann family, putting a little twist on last year, when Jack came down to Madison for the Fourth. He's used to smaller homes—his parents’ house in Madison, the Haus, Jack’s modest apartment that he's fixing to move into after graduation next year. The Zimmermann home—mansion?—is a kind of culture shock in itself. There's the kitchen, of course, but there's also the tall ceilings, the home gym, the wine cellar in the basement—he couldn’t help but continue to gasp to himself when Alicia gave him an informal tour on his first day in Montreal.

“You know,” he offers late one night, gesturing around at the kitchen, a second glass of a Riesling of Alicia’s recommendation in hand, “If you were in the mood for proposing marriage, this would honestly be more than enough.” Billy Joel is playing softly from one of the stations on the living room TV, and Bitty is able to recognize the melody as a result of having Jack as a hallmate a year ago.

Jack snorts, taking a swig from his beer, “Yeah, okay. I don't think I'm about to move back into my parents’ house anytime soon. But when we're looking to move into something bigger, I'll keep that in mind.”

He walks across the kitchen to where Bitty’s standing, flipping through a French cookbook, and loops an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his hair. “You're enjoying it now though, aren't you?”

“Oh, gosh, am I _ever,_ ” Bitty turns around, leaving his glass on the counter to take Jack’s cheeks in his hands, pressing a cheery kiss to his lips. “I mean, I'm mostly kidding about the marriage thing. But everything is just, y’know, _wow._ ”

“You don't have to be mostly kidding,” Jack laughs, smiling against his lips as he returns the kiss, “I'm pretty sure _Maman_ would kill to have you as a son-in-law. Both of my parents would, now that I think about it.”

“Who, _me?_ ” Bitty giggles, feeling warmth spread in his chest, “Gosh. Well, I sure wouldn't mind having them as in-laws.” He bats his eyelashes, pecking a kiss at the corner of Jack's mouth. “All that's missing is a proposal, honey.”

“A proposal, eh?” Jack hums a kiss into his neck, nudging the collar of his polo away with the tip of his nose, “Shit, Bits—if that's the case, I don't know what's stopping you.”

“I—I—I still have to _graduate!_ ” Bitty squeaks out, cheeks rosy from the wine, and a little more from the suggestion, “I need more time to think of how I'd do it, anyways.”

“Well, you're not alone there,” Jack notes with a raise of his eyebrows, pulling back to take another drink, “Plus it's only been, what, a little over a year?”

“Yeah,” Bitty smiles, “And then there's the logistics of coming out—to my parents, to Samwell and the Falconers, to the NHL, the entire world…” He pauses, grimacing, and picks up his glass, swirling the wine around, “It's a lot to think about. Makes me want to ask your dad to pour me something stiffer.”

“You and me both, Bits,” Jack agrees with a wry smile, “Though didn't you send me that bulletin board thing or whatever, with ceremony ideas?”

“Oh god, I did link you to my Pinterest, didn't I?” He sighs, shaking his head. “I was such a hot mess on Valentine’s Day...some of the things on there date back to high school...and of course I’ll be asking Lardo for artistic input, too, so nothing is set in stone...but I have been stealing ideas from the Internet to potentially use at our wedding, yes.”

“Cute,” Jack’s lips brush over the shell of his ear, “I know, it’s pretty stressful to think about. But it’s also like what you keep telling me—we really just ought to focus on the positives, what we’ll get to have, when we get there. And, you know, there won’t be much of a spending cap, so…”

“That is something I am _very_ aware of,” Bitty sighs, casting a wistful gaze around the kitchen, “Very much so.”

Jack rolls his eyes with a grin, and he pulls away, heading into the living room. Leaning his elbows on the couch, he flips through the music channels on the TV, switching it from classic rock to country. Notes from a decade-old Brad Paisley hit start to amplify, and Bitty wants to gag at himself for being able to recognize the artist—as much as he tried to avoid country music growing up, it still managed to stick with him sometimes. It’s embarrassing, but even worse is the way that Jack starts to bob along to the music, clearly satisfied with his choice.

“Ohmygod. Jack Zimmermann, you are not about to shake your ass to country music. Not while I’m around.”

Jack turns around, cocking an eyebrow, “I’m not? C’mon Bits, I thought I was supposed to be the buzzkill at parties. Let me have some fun for a change.” He sidles over to Bitty, moving a little loose with the alcohol in his system, and grabs at his waist.

“I’d like to see you, out in the moonlight,” Jack croons in his ear, laughing his way through the next line as Bitty tries to twist away, succeeding only in facing the other way. Bitty pushes at his hands halfheartedly, torn between laughing and crying as Jack’s beer bottle rests cold against his stomach. 

“Sto-o-op,” Bitty whines, nose wrinkling as Jack sings about chasing him through wildflowers, the lyric about checking him for—gag, again— _ticks_ punctuated with a roll of his hips.

Bitty nearly screams.

“Your parents are downstairs,” He manages with a wheeze, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter, but Jack seems to pay the sentiment no mind, smacking a wet kiss on his cheek and continuing to grind on him, “Jack! Seriously!”

“Seriously? I am being serious—we can fly to Madison and act the song out in a matter of hours.”

Bitty gapes, his eyes wide, “You—I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for someone born so far north of the Mason-Dixon line to act like this!”

“Confident that American law is still valid in Canada, eh? You never struck me as the type, Bittle,” Jack teases, leaning down and nuzzling his neck. He laughs as his face meets Bitty’s hand, playfully swatting him away. The door to the basement opens a few feet away from them, and Jack looks up, meeting his father’s amused laugh with a flushed grin.

“Having fun, boys?”

“ _Oui, Papa,_ ” Jack insists as Bitty shakes his head, mouthing the reverse between hiccups of laughs. His abs ache, and he relies mostly on Jack to keep him propped up, a fat tear rolling down his cheek. Bob tosses two beer bottles into the garage recycling, chuckling at them another time before disappearing back downstairs. Jack’s grip on Bitty finally loosens then, but he still can’t help grinning as Bitty turns around, wiping at his eyes.

“I hope you get traded to the Stars,” Bitty warns darkly, fighting a smile of his own, “Or, better yet, the Calgary Flames—Ransom said Alberta is basically Canadian Texas.”

“Yeah?” Jack laughs, setting his beer down to hoist Bitty onto the countertop, “And what if that’s what I want, Bits?”

“Well, you’re free to do as you please,” Bitty tells him, downing the last of his wine, “It’s just I’d never move out there to live with you.”

Jack blinks. “Oh. Ouch.”

Bitty nods sagely, “Ouch indeed. So you best start planning what you’re gonna do when your contract with the Falconers expires.”

Jack nods along with his words, turning somber and maybe a little too serious, and Bitty can’t help but crack a fond smile, setting his glass down to cup Jack’s cheek.

“I’m kidding, of course,” He tells Jack, giving him a soft kiss, “I’m sure the Falconers will renew your contract in a heartbeat. And if they don’t, well—I might just love you enough to follow you to a weird, freezing version of Texas. Maybe.” Jack finally lets out a relieved exhale, leaning his head down to Bitty’s shoulder, hands settling on the sides of his thighs.

“Goodness, Mister Zimmermann,” Bitty coos, smoothing Jack’s hair, “How many beers have you had tonight?”

“A few,” Jack admits with a smile of his own, nursing the last few drops from his bottle, “Though it’s not like you haven’t had anything yourself, eh, Bits?”

“Well, I’m not the one who chose to have _goblets_ as a part of your household glassware, now was I? Besides, your mother was the one who was doing the pouring—it’s not like I was going to refuse alcohol, let alone the most expensive wine I’ve probably ever drank in my life.”

“Fair enough,” Jack admits, leaning in to kiss him, “Sounds like we’ll both be sleeping pretty soundly tonight.”

“Sure does! Ooh, do you think your dad will make omelets like he made the other day for breakfast? If I don’t have too much of a headache, I need to ask him what’s his secret.” 

“That’s always a possibility. But, if we’re both in good shape, we can always try getting up early and working on _Grand-mère’s_ croissant recipe you found—you might not even need me to translate.”

“Sometimes I think you put too much faith in my two semesters of French, _petit ami,_ ” Bitty sighs with a smile, “But of course I’ll prioritize pastries over sleep—especially when it’s for you and your family.”

**Author's Note:**

> i keep subjecting bitty to tall blue eyed men singing and embarrassing themselves in front of him, why this


End file.
